I always think of him around this time. A week from today, it will have been four years since he took his own life. And my heart still aches from guilt and sadness. Even if there wasn’t anything romantic left that I felt for him, and it was mostly resentment, I still feel heartbroken. I know that he was never meant for life. He was always so miserable, and he tried so hard. I guess inpatient wards and medication was not enough for him. I guess he just couldn’t be okay with living.
I don’t know. I still feel like so much of it was my fault, but it really wasn’t. He was like this long before I ever met him. I guess I’ll always feel like it was somehow my fault.
I saw a picture of him on Facebook today. He popped up in my “on this day” thing from five years ago. He looked so happy. He had his guitar, and he was smiling. Sometimes I wish that I could believe in a heaven, or a good place that people go to when they died. But I don’t. I wish he was still playing that guitar. That something could bring him back and he he could be content with life.
It’s just a shame.
Loading comments...